Rainbow's End (34 page)

‘What about it?’ the policeman said.

‘It’s what our mam an’ our Ellen takes the littl’uns out in,’ Deirdre said in an anguished tone. ‘Sammy’s seven, he can walk, but Toby’s only five an’ he needs a lift now an’ then. An’ it’s real useful for messages,’ she added wistfully. ‘Easier to push a sack of coal or a big bag o’ spuds than to carry ’em, I’m tellin’ you.’

‘Well, it may not be up to much be now,’ the policeman admitted. ‘But I saw one of me pals towin’ it in towards the beach after we’d got the pair of you on dry land. Mebbe it’ll still be usable.’

‘But if it’s on the beach, someone’ll bleedin’ steal it,’ Deirdre wailed, sitting forward as though she was contemplating leaping from the cab and running back to Seaforth Sands. ‘Oh, me lovely pram . . . me mam’ll slaughter us for losin’ it!’

‘Your mam will be so glad to get you back she’ll not trouble about the pram,’ the policeman said. ‘I just hope you’ll t’ink twice before runnin’ away again.’

‘Runnin’ away? We wasn’t runnin’ away,’ Donal said, rather perplexed. ‘We leaved a note tellin’ ’em we’d gone to the seaside; we said we’d go home again when the grub ran out. That’s not runnin’ away, that’s just havin’ a bit o’ fun.’

‘You din’t say which seaside, for a start. And if you go off, a couple of bits of kids like you, wi’ just a home-made tent an’ a perambulator, what’s folk expected to think? No, you’re runaways to the police, I’m tellin’ you. You could be in big trouble for wastin’ police time, I dare say.’

‘We din’t ask you to come chasin’ after us,’ Deirdre said, ruffling up. And then, deflating, she added: ‘But we’re glad you did, though. Ain’t we, Donny?’

‘Yeah, course we are,’ Donal said. ‘But I don’t mind tellin’ you, I’m not lookin’ forward to facin’ Mam, an the fellers, an’ Ellen.’

Chapter Ten

If it hadn’t been for the war, Maggie thought the day after it had been declared, nothing would have changed. She would have gone on living happily with the Nolans, Liam would have stayed with the Post Office and eventually the two of them would have married, hopefully in peace and harmony.

But the war changed all that, though not in the way one might have thought. Maggie’s life changed because the headlines had caught her and Liam off guard.

The two of them had been going out for the best part of six months, but they had never allowed any member of the Nolan family to know how things stood. Maggie felt it would be unwise, though she was not sure precisely why, and Liam went along with it, though occasionally he did point out that there was no real need for such secrecy.

‘If Mammy knew we were plannin’ marriage, she might pay you a bit more, so our savin’s would grow quicker,’ he said. ‘Or if she didn’t like that idea, you could get a proper job. I know she’ll say we’re too young to be thinkin’ of marriage, but I’m earnin’ a good wage now, so I am, an’ if we save like fun we could name the day in . . . what, three years?’

Maggie thought three years was an awful long time to wait, but she knew better than to say so. It was supposed to be the fellers who found it hard to wait, not girls, but in her heart she knew – or thought she knew – that her feelings for Liam were stronger than his feelings for her. He had only asked her out the first time, she suspected, because he didn’t want her going with other fellers. So she said that three years would soon pass and she would save, too, and there was the money she earned from helping Mrs Collins . . . and life jogged along very comfortably. Until the fourth of August, that was.

On Bank Holiday Monday the Nolans usually had a day out. This year, Liam fancied a day out without the kids around him. As was their habit, they had left the house after the evening service on Sunday and headed for Phoenix Park. They would walk there until it was dark and then they would go quietly back to the Liberties and find somewhere secluded for a cuddle.

So it was sitting on a bench which backed on to a holly hedge that Liam made his suggestion. ‘A whole day to ourselves, from early mornin’ until late evenin’, alanna,’ he coaxed. ‘Just you an’ me . . . we’ll find out where Mammy an’ the kids is goin’ and we’ll go somewhere different. Aw, c’mon, just the two of us!’

‘They’re goin’ to Howth, on the train,’ Maggie said at once, having been told by the twins a thousand times what their plans were. ‘But your mammy needs me . . . and I do enjoy a family outing, so I do. Your mammy won’t tek kindly to me backin’ out of such a day.’

‘Oh, I’ll fix Mammy. We’ll tell her you’re goin’ to visit Aileen and her feller, and that I’m off on a fishin’ trip wit’ me pal Olly Moss, but really we’ll go to Booterstown. Tell Mammy that as Aileen’s elder sister you feel bound to see the feller she’s goin’ to marry in his own surroundings,’ Liam said, inspired. ‘Mammy’s a great one for a good match, she’ll understand you don’t want your sister mixin’ up wit’ someone unsuitable.’

Aileen had a feller, someone who worked in the house with her. She had fetched him into Dublin one afternoon and Mrs Nolan told Maggie that she might entertain the young couple to tea and scones if she did the necessary, so Maggie had cooked and cleaned and told the twins to keep out of the way and let Ticky play with the Farrell kids, first giving Kate Farrell a bag of buns to keep them all out of mischief. And then her entertainment had started.

Aileen’s Pat was the garden boy. He was large and lumpish and given to giggling, but he seemed good-natured and he certainly adored Aileen. He watched her as she moved about the room, never taking his eyes off her, and he agreed with every word she said – it was downright boring, Maggie thought, though Aileen clearly loved it. And after meeting Pat, though Maggie had fully intended to tell her sister about Liam, she found that she no longer wanted to do so. Liam’s thin, intelligent face and quick movements would have made poor Pat look even slower and more lumpish, and Aileen seemed perfectly happy with Pat’s affection, and to have no regrets over her suitor’s lowly position in life or his obvious lack of mental agility. Though she had said something which rather puzzled her sister when Pat had taken himself off to the backyard for the usual purpose and the girls were left together for a moment.

‘Course, he ain’t like the Master,’ Aileen had murmured, giving Maggie a sly glance from under her lashes. ‘But he’s a capable gardener, so Master’s goin’ to give us twenty guineas when we wed . . . an’ more, he says, when the babies come.’

‘Oh? Are you going to keep on working, then?’ Maggie asked, thinking that this was a very strange arrangement indeed. ‘I didn’t know the quality employed married maids.’

‘They will for a bit,’ Aileen assured her. ‘Until the babies come. The double wages will be a help, and . . .’ another of those sly, through-the-lashes looks . . . ‘it’ll be easier for the Master, like.’

But just then Pat came back and the kettle boiled and in the excitement of making tea and talking, Maggie forgot about Aileen’s mysterious master. In fact, she hadn’t given the matter another thought until that Sunday evening when it had occurred to her to repeat the conversation and to ask Liam, who was so much wiser and more worldly than she, what it was all about.

When she had finished her recital Liam had put his arm round her waist and given her a squeeze. ‘Sure an’ aren’t you a simpleton?’ he had said lazily. ‘Your sister’s havin’ a gay old time wit’ her master, an’ if anythin’ happens, there’s slow ole Pat to pick up the pieces. In a manner of speakin’, like.’

‘Oh, Liam, what on earth do you mean? Pick up what pieces?’ Maggie had asked crossly. Sometimes her ignorance weighed her down, so it did. ‘And Aileen’s a maid, she can’t have a gay old time wit’ anyone, can she?’

Liam sighed and looked around him; there was no one in sight so he bent over her and kissed her mouth. It was lovely, Maggie adored being kissed, but she knew better than to let it go on too long. That way lay trouble of a sort which, no matter how ignorant she might be, Maggie was eager to avoid. Disgrace, she thought vaguely. Pointing fingers. And pushed Liam reluctantly back from her.

‘There! Now whenever I start to have a gay ole time wit’ you, you shove me away,’ Liam said. ‘Cos if you was to get into trouble there wouldn’t be any dull ole Pat to pick up the pieces. See?’

‘Ooh! Do you mean to tell me . . . are you tryin’ to say . . .’ stammered Maggie. ‘Ooh, Liam, d’you mean Aileen an’ the master . . . but he’s an old feller . . . that can’t be what she meant . . . can it?’

‘It’s what she meant, sure as eggs is eggs,’ Liam said. ‘An’ if she trusts any ole feller wit’ her honour like that, she’s not as clever as she looks. Fellers like that, they turn round afterwards an’ swear it weren’t them an’ not a penny piece will they part wit’. I’m tellin’ you, Maggie, she’s playin’ a dangerous game.’

‘If, you’re right, she is,’ Maggie said slowly. ‘Only that Pat – he worships the ground she walks on, so he does. I’m tellin’ you, he’d marry her whatever she might have done. So she’ll be all right, won’t she, Liam?’

Her tone was worried and Liam hastened to reassure her. ‘Indeed she will,’ he said. ‘And so would you be, for wouldn’t I marry you like a shot if there was a baby on the way, me darlin’ girl?’

‘Ye-es, but it’s not a good idea to have babies holdin’ you back from the start,’ Maggie pointed out. ‘You said yourself . . .’

‘I know I did,’ Liam groaned. ‘But don’t I wish we could tell Mammy about us, acushla. Then we wouldn’t have to wait so long to wed, because you could earn a dacint little sum at a proper job and ’tis time Mammy was realisin’ it, so it is.’

‘But suppose she thought I should live somewhere else?’ Maggie said uncertainly. ‘Suppose she says me board an’ lodgin’ is paid for by me workin’ for her? Because it’s true, I suppose, Liam me love.’

‘After your mammy died she said your home would always be wit’ us,’ Liam had reminded her. ‘Sides, you won’t stop workin’ for her just because you’ve got another job – you work now, on the market stalls.’

‘Yes, but only when they’re mortal busy, an’ I can spare the time from the house an’ the kids . . . but I suppose you’re right,’ Maggie said, having thought it over. ‘I could earn eight bob a week in the lemonade factory, so they say.’

‘Or more in one of the posh stores on O’Connell Street,’ Liam supplied, grinning. He knew how Maggie loved those stores. ‘We’ll tell Mammy before Christmas, shall we? That we’re savin’ up to get wed, I mean. Why, she’ll be really pleased, I’m sure, especially if you’re workin’ in a store by then and bringin’ in good money. She’s always on at me to start lookin’ for a girl.’

‘Well, right, we’ll tell her at Christmas,’ Maggie had said, getting to her feet. ‘And if you really t’ink it’ll be all right, I’ll tell her I’m goin’ to see Aileen and you say you’re off fishin’ wit’ Oily. After all, she can only say “no”, and she does know that Aileen’s the only sister I’ve got now.’

But Liam certainly understood some things about his mother, for she had not hesitated when Maggie, without a blush, had said she wanted to go and see Aileen and Pat at their place of work.

‘You go off, it’s your duty,’ she said approvingly. ’Tis time the older lads looked after the younger ones for a change, and it’ll give you a real break, so it will. What time will you be home, Maggie? Our train gets in sixish; it would be nice if tea was ready for say, half-past the hour.’

Oh, well, Maggie told herself, when she heard Mrs Nolan telling Liam to enjoy his fishing, it wasn’t the end of the world. It would mean leaving the seaside before the warm dusk had made much cuddling possible – Maggie belonged to the school of thought which considered kissing by daylight to be beyond the pale – but they would have had the best of the day.

Liam, when she told him, said robustly that he didn’t care what his mammy said, she would be home by ten and that was an end to it. ‘You can say you missed the train, or that you had to stay on longer to have a word wit’ Aileen’s mistress,’ he said. ‘Old skinflint – home in time to get the tea for half-past six, indeed!’

The twins had had an enjoyable day at the seaside, for though they missed Maggie and Liam, their two elders would undoubtedly have kept very much better order than Mammy and Kenny managed. In fact, Seamus and Garvan had managed to squeeze the maximum enjoyment out of their day, which meant that they had early abandoned their mother and Ticky and gone off along the beach by themselves, indulging in a number of pranks which Liam and Maggie would have instantly put a stop to had they been around. They flattened a number of castles, causing the builders thereof – small, dirty-faced brats with pudding-basin haircuts and runny noses – to scream with rage and disappointment, whilst indignant parents – in one case a hefty docker, which wasn’t so funny – scrambled in pursuit of them, shouting threats and curses into the warm afternoon air.

Then they had gone nicking. First, it was a couple of real good spades to dig with. Fellers of fourteen had better things to do than dig sandcastles, of course, but they liked cockles, and they liked damming streams and making a canal which stretched half-way across the beach.

‘I wouldn’t mind bein’ a navvy, Shay,’ Garvan said at once point, as the water came rushing creamily along their canal. ‘Machinery’s good, too. I wouldn’t mind doin’ somethin’ wit’ machinery.’

‘Well, we’re supposed to be lookin’ for jobs, Garv,’ Seamus pointed out. ‘But there isn’t much navvyin’ around Dublin right now. Nor many machinery makers.’

‘You have to go to England to navvy, or to America,’ Garvan said. ‘What about the Navy, like our daddy?’

‘Dunno. Shall us get somethin’ to eat now?’

There were picnic parties all over the sands. It wasn’t difficult to help themselves from an open basket or a child’s hand as they passed, and then to speed on their way, cramming their gobs with stolen sandwich or cake, laughing like maniacs, spraying crumbs.

‘Half the fellers on this beach is after our blood,’ Seamus remarked after they had slaked their thirst with ginger-beer bought with the coins which had scattered from a fat man’s pocket. They had scattered because the fat man had jumped to his feet to prevent them from snatching his small daughter’s slice of porter cake. ‘We’d best walk back along the prom.’